


(Mire)Lurking

by Squashlord



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Fluff, M/M, and a very small nod to a certain new vegas mod, just guys being dudes, miscellaneous mirelurk, whats better than that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squashlord/pseuds/Squashlord
Summary: "You make me sound like I'm one of the Unstoppables. But lame. What's my special power?" The door squeaks as they step on out, Cass limping slightly even as he shoots back a smile."Hm. Well you can't be cool like Grognak. And you ain't suave like the Silver Shroud, no matter what Kent says. You could be like... the Mechanist, only with horribly ugly creatures.""Oh, so that's why you're still here, huh?"





	(Mire)Lurking

"Boy, this is really fascinating. Can we stay longer?" MacCready draws from across the office, almost petulant when he kicks up some dust.

"Hm, I'm detecting a hint of sarcasm. Could it be that you really don't find the ocean interesting?" Cassidy shoots the guy a grin after combing through a desk drawer, their current jaunt in the Commonwealth leading them to Nahant Oceanological Society. A veritable treasure trove of almost nothing at all. Except mirelurks. Lots of mirelurks.

MacCready sneezes and flops down on an ancient chair, tilting his head to listen to the Mr. Handy downstairs greet nobody in particular. "Oh yeah. Radiation, mirelurks, maybe even worse down there? Sign me up for swimming lessons."

"That's the spirit. Knew there was adventure in you somewhere." Cass adjusts his cap and brushes dust of his knee, kicking aside a can - there's always cans, what's with that? - on his way over to over the stairs. "C'mon, wanna check out where they kept the lobsters?"

"What the fu- _eff_ is a lobster?"

-+-+-+-+-+-

Their short trudge to the adjacent building leaves MacCready none the wiser, Cassidy's piss poor explanation just giving him more questions than answers. He's left pondering as his partner jimmies the lock on the big blue door and takes a peek inside, but apparently it seems safe enough.

"Oh man, it's like something went and died in here. Almost smells as bad as you." MacCready waves a hand in front of his face as he teases with a growing grin, and readies his gun. Just in case.

"Love you too, cramface."

Cass takes point after sneaking in a quick kiss and chucking Mac under his chin. A cursory glance tells them that the place has flooded pretty badly, two giant glass cases broken after two hundred years of neglect. MacCready stays higher on the catwalk while Cassidy starts going downstairs carefully, taking his pistol out of the holster, and grimaces when he nears the flooded out floor.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to find another raider with feet my size if I go any further. Aw, damn, I liked these boots too."

"Just set them by the campfire later. Don't be such a drama queen." MacCready calls down, leaning against the railing until there's a sudden thunderous shift in the sand and debris in the middle of the flooded room, followed by an inhuman shriek. "Shit! Another 'lurk? I thought we killed all o' you already! Cass, get your ass back up here!"

But it's too little too late. Cassidy barely has time to fire off an explosive shot, hitting the huge mirelurk's shell and not much else as it hurtles towards him at the base of the stairs, screeching wildly as it manages to whack one of Cass' legs with a massive claw.

"Aim for the face!" Cassidy yells after stumbling back, heart in his throat when the mirelurk takes another shot, causing him to stumble on the stairs in a flurry of limbs and furious clacking.

"What face? All I see is it's barnacled backside!"

In response there's a loud fiery shot, muffled slightly by the shrieks and large shelled creature over Cassidy as it rears up in pain. "There! Now, Mac!"

Another shot rings out, this time from above. Cassidy turns his head away and kicks out, hoping that MacCready doesn't hit him instead, but the frantic clacking and pained noises, as well as the disgusting splatter tells him that the shot aimed true.

"And that's how we do it round here!" MacCready whoops, eyes wide and finally grinning in relief when the beast falls silent and heavy on the stairs, at least until Cassidy uses a foot to push it further down.

"Fuck, to think I almost became fish food. What a lame way to go." His words come out with a breathless shudder of relief, though he soon makes a face at seeing the stains on his clothes. Gross, he thinks, as he pulls himself up until MacCready comes down to lend a helping hand. "I'm starting to think that maybe we won't have any vacations by the beach anytime soon."

MacCready helps Cass back on his feet and up the catwalk, shaking his head at the sheer dumb luck his friend seems to keep having. "Today really isn't your day, is it? Crap haul and now you get 'lurk guts all over you? Damn, Cass, you're really taking it for the team."

Cassidy lets out a sigh and a groan, rubbing a hand over his face to get the worst of the grime off. He spares a glance back, part of him wanting to grab the scrap that's no doubt still there on the ground, but he's had more than enough of this place for one day. It's time they get out of here.

"Thanks for not shooting me, by the way." Cass acknowledges with a weak smile and a pat on MacCready's arm.

"And ruin that handsome face of yours? Come on, you're rugged enough already without yet another scar."

That gets MacCready a laugh from the other guy, who finally holsters his pistol in favour of checking out his leg. He is lucky: nothing broken, but he's going to be a bit black and blue for a while. Might be able to get a little bit of pampering when they finally make camp for the night. It's just a shame that he's going to have to get into some new clothes pretty sharpish, at least until he can get the rank scent of giant sea creatures out his t-shirt and jeans.

"C'mon, we should get out of here. We'll head back to the Red Rocket up the road, hunker down for a while? Pretty sure I can whip up something to eat." And clean himself up while he's at it, standing up straight and heading for the door, but he ends up wrinkling his nose at himself.

"Sure thing. But we are so not sharing a sleeping bag tonight, fish boy."

"You make me sound like I'm one of the Unstoppables. But lame. What's my special power?" The door squeaks as they step on out, Cass limping slightly even as he shoots back a smile. At least haven't got to go far, they've just got to be a bit quiet soon to skirt around the ghouls at Croup Manor. No biggie.

"Hm. Well you can't be cool like Grognak. And you ain't suave like the Silver Shroud, no matter what Kent says. You could be like... the Mechanist, only with horribly ugly creatures."

"Oh, so that's why you're still here, huh?"

MacCready slaps Cass on the back of the head for that cheek while letting out a laugh, almost dislodging the guy's carefully patched up baseball cap, though it doesn't knock off his smirk.

"Oh c'mon, you can't do that. Not when I'm mortally wounded." Cass tries to reason, tries to get at least a look of sympathy from MacCready, but all finds is exasperated fondness.

"What can I say? Think of it as a lesson. You needed some sense knocking into that head of yours." MacCready huffs as they traipse down the main road, past more decrepit buildings, centuries old souvenir shops and a dock that should have been reclaimed by the sea already.

"You can knock all the sense you want into me when we settle down for camp." Cass raises an eyebrow in a deliberately suggestive gesture, scuffing the sandy ground with a boot.

"And how long have you been wanting to say something like that, huh?"

"Why do you think I keep getting into sticky situations with you around?" Speaking of which, they lower their voices and walk carefully as they near the edge of Croup Manor, making sure they don't get into another situation today. There's nothing that Cass hates more than getting jumped by ferals. Except maybe bloatflies. And bloodsuckers. And radroaches.  
Alright, so he hates a lot of things out here in the Commonwealth, but he has the excuse that pretty much everything is trying to kill him in one way or another.

Sneaking past the Manor is successful, with barely a Feral to be seen. Cass lights up as they near the Red Rocket on the outskirts of Nahant and they pass the cigarette back and forth with practised familiarity, safe in the knowledge that the truck stop is already deserted. Not even raiders bother to come out to this little blustery peninsula.

Cass stops first when they reach the abandoned pumps, an old habit from his prewar days causing him to stub out the cigarette on the off chance there might be fuel still in the rusted pipes. "If it weren't for the beasties, this place would be some kind of ghost town. Spooky."

"Oh, I bet there's plenty of ghost stories around here. Like the Kingsport Lighthouse out by Salem. It still glows even through it's supposedly abandoned, and anyone who's tried to find out why has never returned." In the funding light MacCready waggles his fingers and makes a probably ghostly sound, but any chance of scaring Cassidy is lost when he breaks out into a cheeky grin.

"You're making it sound almost fun. Thinking of visiting?"

MacCready lets out a laugh as they step inside the run down building. "With you? Why not?"

"Might get dangerous."

That gets a roll of Mac's eyes, and he dumps his pack down on the floor to take out his sleeping bag for later. "Since when was that a turn-off? Isn't a little bit of danger just another day for you an' me?" He gestures for Cass to come on over and help set up a makeshift camp. "Anyway, c'mon, you gotta have a change of clothes in your duffle bag somewhere, right? You pick up a whole lot of other junk."

"Ouch, harsh. Some might call it trash, but it's all treasure to me." Cassidy feigns being hurt but he can't keep a straight face for very long. But MacCready is right; he's got some farmhand clothes tucked away, and while they don't offer much protection they serve their purpose. "Get a fire going and I'll get cleaned up and changed."

+-+-+-+-+

Most of the evening is passed by with jokes and gripes, the last of the radstag cooking over the little campfire. It's maybe even a bit cosy with the night closing in on Cassidy laying back on his sleeping bag, fiddling with his Pip-Boy until he gets the soft sounds of some old timey crooner, when he lets out a sigh. "Man, I wish we found some silt beans. I could kill for a coffee."

"Funny you should say that," MacCready smirks as Cass props himself up on an elbow, looking at his companion curiously. "I know it ain't coffee, but it's the next best thing." With that he leans over to his pack to pull out a tall, dusty bottle, the label almost faded into nothing, but Cassidy doesn't need that to know it's a welcome bottle of bourbon.

"You are a saint. An actual saint. But where the hell did you find that?" Cass gives a huff of disbelief and sits up, dragging his bag over to pull out a couple of chipped cups and sets them down between them.

"Found it a while ago, back when we had to clear out those super mutants for Daisy. It was just sitting there in an office, can you believe it?"

Turns out the bottle is only about half full, but it's still good, even if they can't get more than a little tipsy on it together. It's nice, cosy even, sat beside each other on a sleeping bag with the sound of _Volare_ playing softly in the background. The kind of night where Cassidy doesn't miss his old life quite so much. There's plenty that's worth waking up for, even in a world like this one.

"You've got that look on your face again. What you thinking about? Is it how to get 'lurk blood out of leather? Because I'm pretty sure we can find some Abraxo or something."

MacCready makes Cass smile, but he shames his head and has a sip of last bit of bourbon. "Nah, although that's gonna be a headache. I was just thinking how this is all actually pretty sweet. What is it you like to say? _The open road and a loaded weapon?_  Maybe you're right. It really doesn't get much better than that."

"You gettin' sentimental on me?"

Cassidy let's out a quick laugh at that. "When have ever known me to be like that? No, I just," he pauses, doffing his cap to scrub a hand through his hair. "We've got a good thing going. Even if we get into some crazy situations, huh?"

"You _are_ getting sentimental on me." MacCready wears a fond smile, amused and perhaps a little touched. He nudges Cass, but he's not the sort to push the guy away. "I told you before that we're in this for the long haul. I meant it then and I mean it now," He clicks their glasses together lightly. "Even if you still got some mirelurk guts on you."

"Oh shut up. I got pretty much all of it off."

MacCready's smile takes on a decided cheeky tone and he leans in close, almost conspiratorial when he whispers, lips close to Cassidy's. "Make me, fishbrain."

What a goddamn tease. It's a good thing Cass likes the guy enough to close the gap and steal a kiss before setting both their glasses down in a promise of what's to come. "You're on, cramface."

**Author's Note:**

> Yo if you want you can hit me up on my very irregularly updated blog http://ignisquisition.tumblr.com/


End file.
